


The Golden One

by AllTheBellsInVenice



Category: Sherlock BBC barely, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: 100 follower ficlets, Angst, F/M, Longing, Prompt Fill, True Love, love on the green grass, shapeshifting smaug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheBellsInVenice/pseuds/AllTheBellsInVenice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of the days when Smaug the Magnificent walked the earth in the seeming of a Man, and how he lost his heart. </p><p>A prompt fill for LaTessitrice that was meant to be Smauglock but turned out a little more purely Tolkien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaTessitrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/gifts).



_latessitrice said: Am I too late? I would like to request some Smauglock please and thankyou._

*****

Smaug the Magnificent, greatest dragon of this Third Age, the Scourge of Dale, the Terror of Erebor, lay heavily on his mighty treasure hoard and dreamed of his wife.

So innocent he’d been, so long ago, after he’d left his feckless youth behind and abandoned the Withered Heath. He’d thought himself so forlorn then, weary as he was of the trackless tundra, the taste of wild sheep. He’d even grown weary of the company of the Dragon females and their clutches among the high peaks. The wide world beckoned.

And so he had flown to the edge of the heath and there made his change, sculpting himself tall and dark in the likeness of the race of Men. This was Dragonkind’s secret: the shifting of flesh, the changing of terrible into meek, fell into fair; for to walk among them was to truly know one’s prey.

Thus for twenty mortal lifetimes he travelled the southern lands, learning the secrets of the majestic mountains, the great rivers, the high windy plains of this Middle-Earth, until at last his wandering footsteps led him into a deep wood, far over the edge of the wild. On that fateful night, Smaug heard the sweetest music that had ever reached his ears, so pure that it seemed to pull him upward toward the watchful stars.

Glimpsing firelight through the trees, Smaug parted the leaves with long hands and saw a sight he’d never seen: a maiden, tall and fair, stepping out of a crystal pond and into the gentle glow of a little fire. Her voice was lifted in song, her feet were light on the moss, and her only covering was the heavy fall of her golden hair.

As Smaug watched her, she ceased her singing. Lifting one white hand, she beckoned to him where he lay hidden, and Smaug was struck with wonder.

“Tolo na naur,” she said.

Ah, maiden, I cannot come nearer to the fire, for I am the fire, he said in his heart. But he called again on the great magic of the Dragons, leaving off his sun-roughened mortal seeming and taking instead the leaf-shaped ears, the moonlit fairness of the eldest children of Eru. He stepped forth.

“A star shines upon the hour of our meeting,” he said, tasting again this tongue of the Elves.

The maiden turned to face him, her nakedness a miraculous sight that stirred Smaug’s blood into lust to possess her.

“Long have I seen this night in the deeps of the blessed well; long have I awaited you, my lord. Come to me, fair stranger, for I am eager to know you.”

Smaug hesitated, for well he knew that to know an Elf maid’s body in the ways of man and woman was also to take her to wed. But her amber eyes captured him, and Smaug stood amazed, for in one moment his heart was forever lost. 

He caught her reaching hands, and down they fell together onto the greensward, her hair flowing molten gold in the firelight. Her skin was silk under his hands, her mouth berry-sweet, the pale tips of her breasts like petals of pink blossom fallen onto snow.

And how she lifted that sweet voice, what cries of passion rang through the glade as Smaug took the demure invitation of her parted legs. How many reverent kisses his mouth dropped upon her long throat, her eyelids, her beseeching lips as he moved worshipfully in her welcoming body. And together they ascended into the heights until Smaug remembered once more what exultation it was to fly, and higher still until it seemed that they danced together amongst the stars.

And when the fire had grown low, and the moon had slipped silently behind the trees that guarded the plighting of their troth, Smaug touched her face in awe and vowed to forever shield her from the terrible truth of his shape’s seeming.

“I am Súlchir, my lady wife.”

“My lord husband, I am Norwen. Le melithon anuir.”

“And I, you,” he replied, and held her against his body, believing that it was the last form he’d ever take.

Their long years together had been a dream of sweetness. Her people were subject to the King of the Greenwood, and so they took abode on the edge of that great domain, passing long seasons in simple harmony. But as the years drew on, a sorrow cast its shadow over his beloved Norwen, and it came to pass that one day she fell weeping into Súlchir’s arms as they sat upon the warm grass before their home. Wringing her white hands, she told him that she could not understand why their great love had borne no fruit, why after centuries her arms were still empty.

Seeing her great sorrow, Súlchir felt his own heart grow heavy, and he cursed his weakness in taking her to wife. Oh evil fate to which he’d brought her, in his pride! And so he made his decision, saying to Norwen the words of his great deception and her doom: “My beloved, I am not an Elf.”

And stepping away from her in the green valley floor, he called upon his great magic, his fair features becoming dreadful, his limbs and body growing, growing until his scales glittered in the sun, and the wind from his outflung wings tossed the trees atop the great hills on every side.

Tiny before him, his beloved Norwen stood stricken to her soul for a long while. Then, sadly, she turned away from her husband and went quietly into their home. By the time Smaug had once again taken the fair form of Súlchir, Norwen had returned, hooded and cloaked for a long journey.

“I cannot forgive,” she told him, the escaping threads of her golden hair lit to incandescence by the setting sun. “Now I go to bid farewell to my father and my friends, and then I will sail into the West, to seek what peace I may beyond this world. I loved you, husband. Do not follow me.”

And as Norwen’s feet took her up and over the hill and away from him, Smaug’s mighty heart cracked within his breast, and he felt his terrible sorrow kindle into everlasting fire.

And thus it was that as his wife took ship and passed away into the West, Smaug flew toward the East and let his rage tear through the lands. Fields, herds, entire cities burned under the inferno of his breath, until at last he came to the great Dwarven fastness of Erebor. He routed them, burning all before him, his dread flame scouring all to cinders and scorching a black path even to the very heart of the Lonely Mountain.

And when he was alone once more, the dark halls grown silent with the death of every echo, Smaug settled his weary bones on the great hoard of glittering gold, the flowing treasure that was all the wealth in the world. All of it was nothing, nothing compared to the priceless treasure of his Norwen, whose face shimmered always before his closed eyes, forever crowned by her golden hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Sindarin:  
> Tolo na naur - Come near the fire  
> Súlchir - lord of winds  
> Norwen - fire maiden  
> Le melithon anuir - I will love you forever


End file.
